Death's Diary
by StikLover2
Summary: Just great. I guess my master wants me to write in this "journal" now. Oh, where are my manners? I suppose I should say something. My name is Thanatos, or as most people know me, Death. I've taken it upon myself to start writing in a journal. Want to see my thoughts? Well, you should have asked in the first place! Come on in, don't be shy! I'm not all that bad, honestly...
1. Entry 1: 1939

**Hey guys! So, I've decided to create this little journal series called "Death's Diary." This is going to be a bunch of one-shots and journal entries from the point-of-view of Death, AKA Thanatos. What you are about to see here is Thanatos' diary... He will be putting in plenty of journal entries as time goes by! **

**The entries can cover absolutely ANYTHING in life that you want. I want you guys to review or PM stuff you want to see, like Cleopatra's death, a war, ancient Rome, and whatever. Anything in history at all, and I may do a journal-entry of Thanatos from that period. Only requirement is this: it cannot be before the time of ancient Greece. Since Thanatos is a god, and they weren't born till ancient Greece times, that is why. **

**So, I did one journal-entry to start us off! I hope you all enjoy! For those of you readers who are reading my Unity Series books, I will be updating soon! Just been busy this weekend with a surprise party, and I had a tad-bit of writer's block. This series is made to kind of be my "relaxation" writing break from the Unity Series to "clear" my head. **

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, as well as characteristics from the Book Thief, do not belong to me. Praise Rick Riordian and Markus Zusak!**

**P.S, please review and comment!**

**Without further ado..., 1st entry!**

* * *

**Death's Diary: 1939**

**It was a time for the ages, 1939**. Why, you might ask? Well, it was a oiled midnight, as deep as a shaded hue of blue... The first Polish solider fell on that day, a victim of the son of Hades, known as Hitler.

The war of the gods began that day, and soon erupted in a conflict that circled the globe. My workload became a burden, weighing heavily on my shoulders. What is to say about September 1, 1939? Nothing much, except for the fact that it became a living nightmare. And coming from _me_, that's quite a lot.

What I witnessed on that day lead to countless deaths of the bravest soldiers. Yet, lead to the rise of famous leaders. Roosevelt, son of Zeus, and Churchill, son of Poseidon... Courageous they were, but what place do I have to say that?

Ah, who am I kidding? 1939 was just a warmup year. Camp Half-Blood was involved, as they always were. It is a sad tale of mine to observe that most of these campers received my embrace. Every time, I always hope for a dark-chocolate sky, my favorite color. In fact, nearly the color of me.

You could say that the demigods threw the world into war, and forthrightly so. How many more of us must abide by their actions? Alas, it isn't within my place to say. I'm just doing my job, shuttling souls into the endless void of eternity.

Quite honestly, I could say that everything started becoming a nightmare for me in 1939. It was then, that the weight of countless souls started wearing me down. The worst part? Eternity. Life goes on, and I do not. I am eternal, always.

Indeed, country and country came to war in 1939, upon one of the most destructive millenia I have encountered. The sky was an ashen coal the day it began, slowly sucking the life out of a soul. Zeus, that fool.., daresay I utter it to his face. His pride and prejudice got in the way, so very much human...

No matter how much us immortals dare to boast, there is a part in us that is so utterly human. We care. I care.., and I especially cared about the onslaught of demigods, starting on that day in 1939.

I'm sure Hades had quite the pain that day. Ah, my poor master... So tragically misunderstood. I could say with certainty that the most evil villains were his children; a fate that was so incredibly undeserved.

Yet, I still walk on. So many people paid for their mistakes by _me_, in 1939. Nevertheless, the clock kept on ticking in the eternal abyss. _Tick, tick, tick._ I often wondered how many of those poor souls I picked up thought that.

What did it matter? U-boats, aircraft, battleships, tanks, bunkers, artillery platforms... No matter what those things were, all these men paid me with their own lives. I will say, the methods involving_ me_ were quite interesting. Some were vomit-defying, actually.

I will be glad to say there wasn't anything far too significant in 1939. For me, at least. No Roosevelts to pick up, no Churchills..., not even Stalin. Hitler wouldn't come for years. Demigods were always involved in the biggest wars, and they always would be.

Sometimes, it is SUCH a _pity_ that mortals never realized the true scope of things in 1939. Lest they knew, I was always hanging over them like a thread... It would go to say that they all feared _me. _What a shame... When would they learn? Don't fear me... _Please_.

1939 was a time of few happy memories. I know what you're all thinking. _Death_ is happy? Don't be surprised. I have my moments, but then again, don't we all? There were a few nice ones in 1939, however.

An especial favorite of mine was the stirring. Yes, the call to war. It gets me interested. What spurs all these young men to waste their lives? As sadistic as it sounds, it makes sense to _me_. I was always curious to why men run toward _me_, especially in 1939.

Don't get _me_ wrong though. The fun stopped when all those men ran toward _me._ Pain, suffering, and _me_ quickly replaced the happy memory. Why is it all for naught? And why am I so tired?

Eons... They just go. The human race bores me, excites me, and makes me feel everything. More so in 1939. How am I even taking this? All these mortals, they laugh, cry, and face _me._ I can never do any of these things. Just my job.

The iPad was a good alternative, however. At least one of my master's gifts were pleasant. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to show it for the next seventy years or so, however. Something about mortals being "not ready for all-incurring advanced devices."

At least that was one thing I had over them, in 1939. No, I couldn't afford to slack off. It would have to wait. Shoveling the souls came first, and it would be my duty for all eternity. Eternity is overrated, anyway.

I suppose I should start looking on the bright side. This journal my master provided me is quite interesting. If anyone looks at this, I'm sure you're asking this: _why start with 1939?_

You'll see soon enough. Heh. Always the thing with you humans... So curious. Perhaps I should try being more curious... Though it would be for naught. It would buckle me, and make me interested. And when I'm interested in things, it is almost always never a good thing.

So, I suppose that concludes my first entry. Who knows? This could work out. Maybe, just maybe, writing about my experiences could turn out to be rather interesting. Either that, or the world could crash and burn. For now, I'll sign out.

-Thanatos

* * *

**Hope you liked! REVIEW!**


	2. Entry 2: Las Vegas, 2010

**Hey guys! Well, the first chapter went well. I got alot of reviews, about a half dozen, and a few new followers and favorites. This has become more popular than I originally thought... So, the show must go on! This chapter should be interesting. I also want to thank you guys for the suggestions, and I'll do some of those sometime in the future.**

**Reviews:**

**Guest 1: It's a series of one-shot perspectives, but they will be quite interesting, I assure you. And no problem! I enjoy writing this. Look for more to come :D**

**Sparky: Yeah, the italizication is cool. I thought it would sort of make people think a little bit. I was considering doing a "watching Percy" one in the future, so it will come sometime! Plenty of writing shall come :D**

**Guest 2: If you saw my other Death story, it does start with that one small fact line.. So check it out! :D**

**Guest 3: This one-shot is far more modern-centric, so it should be interesting. Different themes will be explored as time goes on. I'm covering just about any scenario. But thanks for the compliment! **

**Lovedystopia: Thanks! This was in the PJO universe in the first place... Lol. Well, technically, before it "started" But yeah, I'll do some in the PJO universe at one point. I did think about the Titan War, and will be doing it soon. PS, next chapter for Unity Series: Book One, will come in a day or two. Just suffering extreme writers' block... I already have a plot bite for the next block of POVs though, so the next block of chapters will come quite quickly after Frank. You'll be pleased! **

**Roguefox: Here's another chapter for you!**

**Kablamstar: I'll be happy to do private one-shots for you sometime! Just name it!**

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, as well as Book Thief charateristics do not belong to me. Just to Rick "Awesome" Riordian, and Markus "Sauce" Zusak. Awesome+sauce= awesomesauce.**

**So, without further ado...**

* * *

**Death's Diary: Las Vegas, 2010**

**Vegas. **Don't even get me started on that city. Booze, casinos, you name it all. But of course, there was _me._ I'm sure people are _dying_, pardon the pun, to hear all about this. If you ask me, that city was generally unpleasant for the likes of _me._

What got my attention in 2010, however, was a calling. Yes, that's right. A calling. I drifted to the City of Lights in that year, mostly to one particular omen. Yes, yes, I know. I'm always everywhere at once, but that's not the point.

What _was_ the point? The hopelessness of a lone demigod was the point. She called for me, and I beckoned. Oh, it was _such_ a chore to navigate Vegas, especially with all these dazzling lights. And yes, I hated bright lights. Quite honestly, it doesn't suit me.

Nevertheless, I drifted my way through Vegas, looking for what called upon me. With a heavy heart, I knew what was to come at the end. The same thing always happened at the end. Always have, always will. Isn't that why they all call it the end?

My ever-beating black heart slowed, as I reached the site. There she was. I could see the jaws of a hellhound snipping away at human flesh. Demigod flesh. Yes, there she was, a lone soul. Kneeling next to the deceased body, I observed the hellhound.

Ah, more of my master's pets. Though I am unsure if he condoned this action. The creature couldn't have possibly been more than ten feet long, with snarling fangs. Barely whispering a murmur, I stroked a hand of my own over the beast. It seemingly froze under my touch.

One of the few things that could sense my presence, at least. After all, who would dare to look out for _me? _

The hellhound visibly relaxed, and went back to consuming his prey. Oh, the demigod was certainly with _me_ now, I could tell. Turning a gaze to the victim, it was a female. More of these Greeks, and probably so.

Reaching out for her soul, a crisscrossing agony ripped across my mind. With a snarl, I realized just what she was. A _Roman_, of all things. A lone Roman in Vegas? I'm sure it was particularly uncharacteristic.

Still, I had to do my duty. Plunging my hand into her mutilated body, her soul was drawn out. In my line of work, I see such few good souls who depart this world. This young lady was one of them, and it had to make me smile. Yes... _Death_ can smile. Perhaps I am smiling now, wherever I am at the moment.

I cradled her like a newborn child: her essence flickering in the wind. Long, midnight black hair was swaying. Looking up, the sky was the exact color of her ruffles. None of those chocolate colors I like so much. Not tonight, at least.

I am a result, nothing else. A result that few people look forward to, and much more who dread. The real question would be this: what is a Roman doing alone, without companions? I may not interact with their kind much, but even I could tell.

The wind beckoned to me, sweeping myself into the cold, night air. Slowly, the girl's soul dissolved in my arms, journeying to the Underworld. For once, I sincerely hoped she would make Elysium. These thoughts don't come lightly to me, so take it with a grain of salt.

Another call blew on the horizon. Of course, it still lingered in Vegas, so I came. I always come, never forget that. This is what it's like for me, always. Are you starting to get it now? How endlessly I have to do this?

It was a dark alleyway. For the City of Lights, quite ironic. And there was my answer, laying below. Two demigods, most definitely Roman, were shivering in the cold. One passed. Of course, I am _me_, and I can always tell.

The other was cradling his companion in his lap. Whispering words that cannot be unsaid, nor undone. At that moment, I felt pity. Such woe was an abandoned Roman, more so without companions.

Kneeling down once more, I took the male. A boy about fourteen or hereabouts. Oh... What a shame. Not worthy of Elysium, no doubt. His greased face bore holes through my soul, as I threw him over my back. A soul staring at a soul? Interesting, isn't it?

The other male was still alive, at least. A torturous reminder to myself. The living keep living, and I cannot. I can only be _me._ Such cruelty in Vegas struck me in that year. Those few demigods I took in the City of Lights gave myself a harsh reminder.

Fun and life happens without me, that much I realize. Those lone demigods were a reminder to _me,_ in Vegas, how utterly alone we all are. Laughter and joy in the City of Lights were nothing to those deceased souls, shivering alone in dark, desolate alleys.

There are always the fortunate few. The few who can look up in life, and face its horrors. So many choose to run away from it, in their own deluded fantasy of a world. But in the end, they'll all face _me._

Here's some advice: face life for what it really is. If no one can bother to do that, then there's no point in resisting _me._ Vegas is such a prime example. The City of Lights is a shining beacon of life. Look at the vibrancy, look at it!

Of course, I can only observe. I don't bother with the inner details of someone's life. The only thing I can bother is how they face _me._ Yes, yes, that's how it all works. This is all about me, me, me. It's my thoughts anyway, isn't it?

Yes, Vegas was a beacon in the harsh reality of life. Just a small tidbit I thought I would put in this journal.

Face it. That's my advice.

-Thanatos

* * *

**Well? I hope you guys liked! Stay tuned for more chapters, and review, review, review!**


	3. Entry 3: The Civil War, 1863

**Hey guys! Been a little while, so I thought that I would do another entry. Feel free to suggest more topics for Death to write about! I look forward to those reviews, and enjoy them! I hope you all enjoy this entry!**

**Reviews:**

**Lovedystopia: Yeah, it's quite deep! I enjoy writing through Death's eyes, and it's a great stress-reliever for me. It's also a good way for me to address different themes and topics in human nature!**

**IllusionalFennel: Yeah, the whole time period thing is quite interesting! I thought it would be cool to explore all these topics in history and themes, through the eyes of Death. I'm pleased that you like my writing style! You may want to check out the Unity Series sequel that I'm writing if you want to see even more of my styles.**

**Sparky: Thanks! I sure hope that attention does get around to this story. I'm pleased that you like the way that I write it! The idea is pretty different, and I'm pretty sure no other writer in the PJO fandom is doing this sort of thing... I hope I'm the first! And yes, I do my best to catch most of the typos, considering that I try to improve and catch all my grammar. After all, grammar marks your professionalism as an author. You should check out my main story, in the Unity Series!**

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, as well as Death's charateristics from the Book Thief belong to Rick Riordian and Markus Zusak...**

**So, without further ado...**

* * *

**Death's Diary: The Civil War, 1863**

**Bloodshed**. That was the bare minimum of my travels in 1863. It goes without saying that North and South had their issues, more so regarding the state of the gods. The Northern Greeks and the Southern Romans were a sight to behold.

I personally never had any issues, since, well, I'm _me._ You can't rip apart the likes of _me_, or ever dare to hope or try. With the gods incapacitated, and warring between their Greek and Roman forms, I had to take charge.

Mind you, it wasn't a pleasant job. The poor souls of the fallen were my duty to shovel up. Over 600,000 people were my sworn oath to collect by the end of 1865. All of them were so _heavy_ in my arms. What was even worse, was how such few of them made it to Elysium.

Perhaps I should be more specific on this topic. 1863 was by far the worst year of the war, for myself. Why? Well, it's so simply explainable in only one word: _Gettysburg._

Wherever you're reading this, Gettysburg was still the most bloodiest battle in the history of North America. And it _tired_ me out. Do you have any idea what it was like to shovel over 50,000 casualties in the course of three days, all in the same spot?

North and South clashed on that day; a result of the Greek and Roman schism. Even by my standards, what I saw horrified me. The legends you often see in that battle, I witnessed for myself.

Devil's Den, the Wheatfield, Little Round Top, Cemetery Ridge, Culp's Hill... I was there for them all. Countless demigods lay dying on those bloodied fields in Gettysburg, and I was hovering nearby.

But if you want me to be more specific, the Southern commander, Robert E. Lee, indirectly caused all this. I'm sure that son of Athena didn't know what was about to befall him when he lead his army to Gettysburg.

Littered corpses scattered the battlefield, and I was there, as always. I'm sure all of you know that I'm not the comforting type. I never have been. Who would want _me_ to comfort them? Out of _eternity_, such a handful of few people actually welcomed _me._

Ah, I'm droning on a bit too much. You want the juicy details, don't you? Well, there's one small story I have to tell about Gettysburg. Picture this: a shadow-streaked midnight, on the dark hues of July 2.

A lone solider laid in the Peach Orchard, gasping for breath. All his surrounding comrades were shot to bits, or met _me_ earlier that day. I drifted closer, gazing down onto his face. He was white as a bedsheet, and was _Roman._

The peaches were long gone, ripped apart by cannon fire or bullets. In a way, they were words. Words turned to hate, and hate lead to weapons. And what do weapons lead to? War, that is. The solider reminded me of that instance.

The key word to remember here: _was. _I took him at that moment, his last breath disappearing in the heat of summer. Another poor soul to collect, for a lost cause. That soldier made me wonder why all this had to happen.

Greeks and Romans were vastly different in the breeze of creation, yet were very much the same. Brother and brother laid in cold blood together, and it sickened me. Not once, could one person stand above the rest, and be the _better_ person.

It's a good thing that I never interact much with my own brethren. I absolutely _despise_ bickering. What's the use of it, anyway? In the end, you're going to face _me._ Make the most out of your lifetime, and _help._ Arguing solves nothing, and this war proves it.

Yes, Gettysburg and 1863 had the same idea. None could exist without the other. And I suggest that the sooner you learn that, the better. I am just _so_ angry on all this needless display of wanton destruction. The only thing I can probably ask myself is this: why, why, why?

Humans have their marvels, and their wonders. 1863 made me disgust them, however. Greek nor Roman could put aside their differences for the betterment of the world. How do you think the gods felt, warring against themselves?

To me, the war was like a boss. Always at your shoulder, demanding things to be done. And so I obliged, doing my duty. But did it thank me? No, it did not. It only demanded me to work harder, harder, and even harder. So I had to obey, and I had no choice.

Who else would shuttle those souls? No one. I was born for that purpose, and I am always there. In a way, I resent all the other gods. Even now, up on Olympus with their schizophrenia, they lived in luxury.

And here I was, down here in the Civil War, cleaning up their mess. Such a filthy mess... The world for what I see is ugly, but beautiful at the same time. But even it all must end, which is something that I'm not thankful for.

The Civil War is just a distant memory for most people. But for me, it is so much more. It reminds me of the ugly nature of the human race, as well as the gods. After all, not everything can be peaches and cream...

In a way, perhaps I should be thankful. A upcoming world war would be far worse, and at the time, I would have no idea just the cost it would produce.

Look over your shoulder, and I will be there. Like I said, the human race is so _interesting. _Sometimes, I feel happy, sad, angry, or in between. The Civil War, more so in 1863, made me angry. The silliness of humans exasperated me sometimes.

But that's enough about all that. I think I've made my point. Then again, no human nor immortal is perfect.

I guess I'll sign off now.

-Thanatos

* * *

**I hope you guys liked! Read and review!**


	4. Entry 4: 1431

**Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you all to enjoy!**

**Reviews:**

**Illusional Fennel: Thanks! I do enjoy incorporating history into the mindset of Thanatos. I also appreciate the comment about him being very well written. I thought it was time to bring his mindset into a little bit of a different approach. If you check out my Unity Series, the chapters starting around Calypso start to get really good. The ones before that, I have to edit heavily, due to the fact that I was new to the fanfiction site and writing when I wrote those. Hope to see you soon!**

**Rogue Fox: Um.. okay? If that means you were absent, then no problem! Just feel free to read any time!**

**Sparky: Thanks for the review! As for that quotation, the whole thing about Thanatos is the fact that he's abstract. He's... well... _death._ Death is the same everywhere, so that's why I don't really incorporate the entire Roman/Greek thing between his two forms. He just has his likes and dislikes, and he's not too big on the Romans, as you can tell from previous chapters... xD. Hope to see you next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus belongs to Rich "Super" Riordian, and Death's charateristics from the Book Thief belong to Markus "Man" Zusak. "Super + Man" = Superman.**

**So, without further ado...**

* * *

**Death's Diary: 1431**

**Innocence. **I suppose that is the majority of the point that I was hoping to get across in 1431. Curious, aren't you? Well, I guess that it's time to shed some light on why 1431 was such a trivial year for me.

One person can pretty much sum up what I'm about to explain. Who is it, you ask? Simple as that, Joan of Arc was one unfortunate soul that I had the privilege... no... _honor_ of retrieving on that May day in 1431.

Shall I give you the background of that? It's slightly difficult to explain, so bear with me as we go on this bumpy ride. I can personally assure you that it could cause you to shed some tears, and even wish to be elsewhere but there.

Joan of Arc was born on the sixth of January, 1412. You could say that her mother was seeing... er... _other_ people at the time. More specifically, she caught the eye of Apollo himself. Joan followed nine months later.

Yes, yes, you're all thinking that her mother.. well... _cheated_. I would have to say yes and no to that statement. Why? Because Joan inherited the gift of prophecy, which would be used to astounding effect.

I know this because of memories. Every soul I've ever collected has a story to tell; their entire lives were flashing through my eyes.

Let me give you one example of Joan's gift. Take the English siege of Orleans, for one such instance. That was one of the few times I gazed upon the prophecy child. Casualties littered the battlefield, as always. And I was there, looking upon it all.

Her prediction of the French victory at Orleans was one worthy of Apollo. Sadly, the souls of men had to pay for it. There I was, collecting each and every one of those souls, when my eyes rested upon Joan.

She was wearing gleamed battle armor, with tear-streaked cheeks. Even in all her sadness, it couldn't compare to what I was feeling. She couldn't see me, and wouldn't be doing so for a little while.

I shook it off, and resumed my duties. The soul of a man laying near her was slung over my shoulder in that instant. Inwardly, I had to sigh. This was going to be another long day, by any means.

Little did Joan know, her gift would get her in trouble. Of course, I _knew._ I always know everything involving me. The sweet innocence of Joan would be one of few instances that could strike a chord in my black heart.

France was in turmoil, when Joan was around. War after war raged that land, especially amongst the gods, as always. Over three mortals kings fought for control of the country, and the English just _had_ to get involved.

Yes, it was work as usual. Work, work, work. I can't ever get a break, nor I ever will. What would the world become without _me?_ I have to be there. Can you imagine never dying, never vanishing into the woes of life? It is my duty to prevent that from happening.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the befuddlement of the wars. All those churches and religious beliefs did lead to some of the chaos in France. Oh, if only those mortals knew... The gods were there, and so very much alive.

Joan of Arc was one result of the gods, and she played to that effort very well. Nearly by herself, she managed to turn a country racked in chaos, into a united nation, bursting with freedom. The gods were to stay in France for that time being, for quite the while.

But like I said, with wars, there was _me._ You could go as far to say that no considerable progress in the world could be made without _me._ Joan of Arc would have to testify to that sad example, as you shall soon see.

You would think that she would frolic in victory after all these military successes? _Wrong._ The English started taking an interest in her; her continuous productions of victories made her susceptible to witchcraft.

Pft, how horribly wrong they all are. Sometimes, I did wish that the Mist would fall for once, so mortals can see the world of the gods for what it really is. The only thing I can say about Joan in this time of suspicion is this: _she was captured._

The raving English, with their cries of witchcraft and tomfoolery, decided to condemn her to _me._ The gods, especially Apollo, were horrified. Even by my standards, it was rather... disturbing. It is with certainty in which I can say that Zeus had a cruel heart, refusing to allow us to interfere.

But she was innocent. Joan was one of the few people committed to making the world a better place, and she had to face _me _for it. Admittedly enough, when the time came... it was difficult for me to take her.

Some people say that burning by fire is a horrible way to die. _Me?_ I'm not so sure. Perhaps fire can make you think for yourself, and what you could have possibly done. That's just my inference, so don't take my word for it.

I don't normally get sick doing my duty, but this was one time in which it happened. When the English lit her up, the flames roared high into the sky. Joan was tied to a wooden stake, wondering just what in the name of Zeus she was doing wrong.

Nothing. She did nothing wrong. So, as per usual, it was a grueling task to carry her soul from the flames, setting her adrift into the eternal abyss of the Underworld. The chanting cries of _witch_ by the English filled my ears as I carried out this duty.

Yes, that was a horrible thing for me to have to do in 1431.

Joan's small story had to remind me of something. War spares no one. Not even the most innocuous of people, who were trying to do things for the greater good. No matter what you do in the end, you will face _me._

Unfair. Yes, it wasn't fair. But like I said, I am not fair. What happened to Joan wasn't fair, nor will it ever be.

There was one thing, however. The purity of Joan's soul of innocence shone like a radiant light. It reminded me that even in times of crisis, we can put things aside and choose to do things for the better good.

Try it. I'm sure you'll like doing good things for once, wrapped in innocence.

-Thanatos

* * *

**I hope you guys like! Be sure to review, follow, and favorite!**


	5. Entry 5: The Likes of Leo Valdez

**Hey guys! Back with another journal update!**

**Reviews:**

**IllusionalFennel: Thank you very much! I'm pleased that the history is imparting upon you. I pick my history periods and specific events for certain reasons, in order to play out with themes. I will keep it up, thanks! I have another chapter up on the Unity Series if you want to read that, and I encourage you to drop a review on that! My chapters on it improve over time, thanks to my continous praciting of writing. As you can tell from the first couple of Unity Series chapters, it's not as good as the latest ones, so I will have to revise them sometime. Only problem is, I HATE going back and having to beef up broken chapters... I'm just not one of those people :P. But I'll force myself to do it, somehow... What matters is writing a good, quality book, and I refused to leave it without it being the best it can be.**

**Someone: Thanks! Zusak's Death inspired me to write a little bit about this, since I feel that it's a very unique portrayal of Death. Originally, I had the feeling that it would blend in very well in Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus, since Death is an actual person, but I reduced his semblance to that of Death in the Book Thief. I will keep it up, thanks!**

**Same Someone: This chapter portrays exactly what you have asked... So enjoy! I do enjoy Harry Potter, but I have not read the books. The movies seemed to be very good, however. I could do that, but it would require doing a crossover... We'll see... Perhaps in the future, I might be willing to get up to that! Thanks for the question though! It was rather interesting to ponder over that.**

**Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, as well as Death's characteristics from the Book Thief, belong to Rick Riordian and Markus Zusak, respectively. **

* * *

**Death's Diary: The Likes of Leo Valdez**

**Very rarely, do I actually feel some angst. **When people cheat _me,_ I have mixed opinions. Some were quite deserving of escaping the fate that was about to befall upon them. Others absolutely _irritated _me.

One such example of irritation was the likes of Leo Valdez. That _blasted_ boy... I honestly think that Valdez could have surpassed Percy Jackson in the terms of how many gods he managed to tick off.

I don't get impatient or angry easily, that much I can assure you. I'm sure you're all thinking on why Leo Valdez was such a thorn in the neck for me, pardoning some other situations in which that had occurred.

I'll backtrack on his story a bit, for those of you with insomnia. Leo Valdez met _me_ as a hero, when he so happened to rip the Earth Mother to shreds in a gigantic explosion, that even I could hear from halfway across the world. Well, I was everywhere, so I suppose you could account for that too.

Even for a son of Hephaestus who could resist fire, the intensity of the imperial gold mixture from a trailing manmade comet was too much for him. Of course, being _me_, I rarely wish myself upon any soul in this world, lest they meet something undeserved.

Three people died in that blast. They are whom you know I speak of. The first one to meet his demise was Octavian.

But Octavian's demise was well received by _me._ I'm sure that the poor augur was tragically misunderstood by everybody, but isn't that the case for big, bad villains? Octavian wanted what was best for Rome, nothing else.

You may think that's honorable, but when it gets in the way of a clear path, it really rather is not. The legacy of Apollo had a chance to make amends, and try to look for a better future. Sadly, it didn't happen. Octavian and his dreams died when he launched himself toward _me._

I wanted to punish him myself. He never tried to look past life for what it really was. Some people take life for granted, and never attempt to journey across its experiences. I know better, since life always eludes _me._

As the comet blew into an inferno, I slung Octavian over my shoulder. He was destined for eternal punishment. The legacy of Apollo could never rise upon himself for betterment, doomed to wallow in shame.

But what happened next was particularly interesting. After I took Octavian, the Earth Mother's soul was present in front of me, being ripped to thousands of pieces. It reminded me of what happened to Ouranos all these years ago, as his soul was shredded apart by the likes of _me._

Yes, I'm quite fully aware that I can never take an immortal's soul. They can only be ripped apart, hopefully to never reform again...

Now, to the point. That accursed Leo Valdez! He was the last for me to take, being the scrappy survivor that he was. The sky was a bright rose, flaring up in the flames of the son of Hephaestus' ashes.

As I reached for his charred carcass, a new sensation rippled across my ghostly form. Oh, this was certainly very interesting... A broken Stygian oath... I don't often see many of those occur when people meet _me._

I guess there's some explaining to do. When Leo died, he broke his oath on the Styx to rescue Calypso. Are you following me so far? Good... Consider this, two negatives make a positive.

Leo's broken oath was one negative. His death was yet another negative. And what do two negatives make? A positive. Very good. The curse on Ogygia was reversed thanks to the positive being fulfilled. I know it sounds like science, but it's the best I can do for your puny little human minds to comprehend.

With that aside, I reached for Leo Valdez's soul. He would certainly be one of the lucky few in which I had the privilege of seeing. His memories flashed through my mind, like one of those infernal TV screens.

There was his time at Camp Half-Blood... His work on Festus... His times with his friends, Piper and Jason... And most of all, shining like a beacon, was his one true love, Calypso. I can honestly say that I usually don't see love come that quickly, but Leo seemed to be the exception.

Yes, there was the flickering of his white soul, trapped inside his charbroiled body. For all his jokes, it appeared that Leo Valdez's luck had run out. Here I was, about to deliver him to the void of eternalness, at long last!

What happened next was something I did not expect. Coming from _me,_ that was saying a lot. I am always aware of circumstances surrounding _me_, and I always have been. That's what infuriated me: Leo's ability to slide out of my grasp.

My ghostly hand started searing with an agonizing pain, forcing me to withdraw. For the first time, I actually attempted passing through to the border of life. How? The answer was this: _the physician's cure._

I've complained to my master numerous times about this. Luckily, it had only happened once in the past. Now it was happening again, and it made me incredibly angry. How DARE Leo Valdez look at me in the face, and still manage to get out of it? He came far closer to me than anyone else I've ever taken.

Mind you, the hand was still stinging. How could I even experience this kind of pain? It was incredibly difficult for me to swallow, and stupefying for me to handle.

Taking a closer look, I noticed the son of Hephaestus gliding on top of a dragon, with a hypodermic needle stuck in his arm. The island of Ogygia seemed to be in the distance, with a figure on the shore. Rolling my eyes, I withdrew.

Leo Valdez was the closest to _me_ without dying, and it made me tingle with the feeling of life for one of the very first times. The pain... Was it what life really was? Was it what Leo was experiencing? So, that's what _pain_ feels like...

I experienced life for the first time through Leo Valdez, and he made me scream all the time. Yes, he was very much going to outgun Percy Jackson for godly escapes.

Even now, as I write this, his escape from my grasp still haunts me. I wanted to kill him for what he put me through, for upsetting the natural order of things. No wonder that Zeus locked up Asclepius.

That's all I have to say about my experience, and the extreme discomfort it brought me.

-Thanatos

* * *

**I hope you all like this entry! Be sure to review and follow!**


	6. Entry 6: The Blitz, 1940-1941

**Hey guys! Finally got around to doing another journal entry, so enjoy! It's just more of a random thought by Thanatos, not particulary important. He just decided to write this for some reason. ;)**

**Reviews: **

**Someone: No problem! I always try to reply to the reviewers, since they're supporting me so much! As for Harry Potter, I'll perhaps try it someday... But you never know! Here's the next chapter for ya, so enjoy!**

**C: Thank you very much! I pride myself as a writer to do different concepts than the same, boring old cliches. Even my "Mortals Meet" series is different, it's not the cliche 'awe at the demigods' thing. You should go check it out! I did have an idea for Abraham Lincoln, which may come someday. Here's the next update for ya, so enjoy!**

* * *

**Death's Diary: The Blitz, 1940-1941**

**Bombs, bombs, bombs... and _me._**

I suppose the throes of war called the young men away... And so I came. The world was at war, more often that it was not. The gods were there- fighting with all their valor and courage, yet divided on uneven lines.

What about me? I did what I always do- _me._ It was a job of mine in those long, hard months of the Blitz, to reap the souls of the innocent.

You may ask this: how?

My reply is simple- foreign arrogance. Or, as the way I put it, the views of a foreign nation. When it comes to the likes of _me,_ there is no difference among any man, woman, and child. They all meet the same fate that we must meet in the end. _Me._

It was a cold night, on a September day in 1940. The sky was darkened to a likeness of charcoal, glowing away in the amber ashes of oblivion. A drone could be heard in the distance, and I was carried with it. The bombs, indeed... London. The world. There is nothing to separate the likeness of this calamity.

Some people are said to be fortunate that the Blitz did not take many lives. Me? I say it's blasphemy. Why speak of the preciously saved lives, when every soul in this world will meet _me_ one day? It matters not how one leaves the land of the living. What matters, however, is _me_. I am eternal, and the living are not. Don't run away from me, and don't even attempt to try.

The drones of aircraft radiated closer and closer... to the heart of London itself. Little would the precious citizens of that city know, it would mark nearly nine months of ceaseless bombing... And nine months of _me_ hanging in the air.

Perhaps, I must give the mortals some resilience. Winston Churchill, son of Poseidon, singlehandedly lead his country through the harshest months of the Blitz, even all the while, his father was at war.

The bombs fell... and so did I.

Observe a young, curly-haired girl roaming the streets of London. When the first signs of _me _fell, she was taken quickly and painlessly. I collected her like so many others- slung across my back. I make no exceptions. All are woe when it comes to _me._

Londoners fell in the street. I collected them. I saw their last thoughts- their worst memories, and the happiest of their times. Of course, most of those wayward thoughts drifted to _me, _and to what they would expect.

Germans. Hitler. Italians. Mussolini. Berlin. Rome.

If a harsher punishment came from the sons of Hades who resided there, it would all be_ me. _

Over forty-two thousand souls were taken by _me_ in the Blitz. London. Coventry. Birmingham. It mattered not- the Germans spared no expense, and neither did _I. _

Oftentimes, I have always wondered how the mortals were ever able to distinguish the likes of _me._ Whether it be a bombing, poisoning, gassing, or any other method of _me, _it is always the same. Meet your demise in the end- _me._

It is not always so bad, I assure you. A life after I transcend your reality can reap you rewards. Provided that you do not wind up in the Fields of Asphodel or the Fields of Punishment, that is.

Imagine crackling flames consuming all of London in terror and fear. I was carried with the bombs, and so I drifted with the hues of chaos.

Seeing terrified mortals did nothing but increase my sorrow. Why must there be such an undying, pardon the pun, fear of _me?_

I am a release. I am an escape to the terrors that you would face in your lifetime. I am a catalyst. I am one who embraces you as you take your final breath. I am your final objective. I am here as a reminder that _I_ am eternal, and life is not.

Yet, people still persist. In their stubbornness and arrogance, it serves as a reminder that I can never understand humans. I will never be able to understand _real_ life as it is. I am nothing but a result, something that young children and old men fear.

The bombs were louder now, echoing on the horizon.

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

If you're asking for such a message and purpose of the Blitz, there is none. If you wanted a real answer, go ask Hitler. I don't care.

Then what I am telling you all this for? The reason is simple: the widespread fear of _me._

I was carried on the wind of Junkers 87s... BF-109s... All with the bombs, and the bombs were _me._

But what am I to say those things? I walked the streets of London during those long, hard months of the Blitz, enshrouded in my robes. No lone mortal could see _me_, of course. The exceptionally few demigods who did see _me_, however, immediately turned the other direction.

Humans revenge each other so. Let me take an example of Hamburg, Germany, in 1943. Alone, the British bombed the city in retribution of the Blitz, causing just as many souls to enter my realm as the entire nine months of the Blitz.

Surprising, isn't it? Humans can have the qualities that I can never have. Whether they are good or bad, I cannot say. Revenge is such a quality that I detest. What is the point of revenge? It all adds up to me in the end, so forgive and forget.

It would be a long and arduous time for me, for nine months. It would not be until the twenty-first of May, 1941, that the bombings would stop, and the widespread fear of _me_ would cease.

But of course, my task would never be done. Much was to come in the throes of the war. North Africa. Stalingrad. D-Day. Normandy. And finally, the gates of Berlin itself.

I know not what possessed me to write down the Blitz, but it touched me in several ways. For one, it heralded what was to come in the greater events of things.

Yes, you shall all soon see. The Blitz was a small role in the greater part of things to come.

-Thanatos

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Just more of a random, small entry.**


End file.
